“Everything you can imagine is real.”

Last night it rained, not a furious rain falling in sheets but a steady drop by drop rain. I had my bedroom window opened, and I fell asleep to the sound of the drops. This morning when I woke up, the day was cloudy and damp. Since then the sun has taken over the sky and brightened the day. It’s a pretty morning.

The window view from here in the den is one of my favorites. The branches of the tall oak tree fill the window, and I get to watch the tree change every season. The leaves now are young and a bright green. Hanging off a couple of the branches are bird feeders, and I get to watch the birds zoom in and out or stay for a while at the suet feeder. The winter view through that window is bleak. I can see only bare branches and dead leaves fluttering in the wind. When the first buds appear, it’s time for a celebration as I know the tree will soon be full and beautiful. It’s almost there now.

Sometimes I ponder my life and every time I do, I realize how lucky I have been. First of all I had great parents though I didn’t always appreciate them, especially when I got sent to my room or yelled at or had a slipper thrown at me by my mother who had absolutely no aim. She never once got any of us. We always ducked if it came close. I got to wander my town and go to the zoo or the swamp or play in the woods. I had a bike which took me even as far as East Boston to see my grandparents which scared the bejesus out of my mother as we had to travel on Route 1A, a busy highway which didn’t always have sidewalks. That bike was one of my childhood joys. My parents took us to museums which developed in us all a love of museums. They let us dream our dreams. I went to college and had no debt when I graduated because my father thought it was is responsibility to pay for school. My parents once told me they never thought any of their kids would go to college as no one in our whole family had ever gone. They were thrilled one of us did and so was I as I had chosen well. I loved Merrimack. The Peace Corps was the defining moment in my life which gave me a love of teaching, two years living in Africa of all places and friends for life. 

I have traveled many places in the world and have filled my memory drawers with those adventures, those vistas, the bumpy roads and crowded busses, the tastes of unknown foods and the joy of seeing all those pictures from my geography books come to life. Every year I went somewhere foreign, somewhere to satisfy my wanderlust. I got to retire early and since then have been to Africa three times: once to Morocco and twice to Ghana. My retirement has been so much fun: greeting the sun on the first of spring, sloth days, game nights with my friends, sitting on the deck doing absolutely nothing, movie nights and on and on and on.

Every now and then, like today, I give thanks for the life I have been privileged to lead. I don’t ever want to forget that. 

” People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.”

The day is again beautiful with that deep blue sky and plenty of sun. The air outside has a morning chill which I think will get warmer as the day gets older. Gracie has been outside all morning and barking every now and then. I went out with her while the coffee was brewing and saw nothing to prompt the barking, but I’m keeping an eye out for a coyote. My friend saw one twice yesterday morning, and the second sighting was right by my house. None have been around lately as the rabbits are fat and greedy. Two were eating in my garden yesterday. When we have coyotes, we have no rabbits or skunks.

Next week I’m going to buy the flowers for my deck planters and the herbs for the window boxes and the herb garden. A few herbs are up already: thyme, oregano and chives. I need lots of rosemary, one of my favorite of all scents. I try to find summer recipes which call for the fresh rosemary, and I love rubbing my hand up the stems and then smelling the rosemary on my hand. Even the dead rosemary from last summer still in the window boxes had that great smell.

While I was driving the other day, all I could think of was how beautiful everything is. I saw the contrasting greens of the trees, the leaves finally out and unfolded, flowering bushes in so many different colors and a bright sun glinting through all the branches. The lilacs are out. I saw white and the usual purple. Mine too have flowered, but they are a deep, deep purple, a color I don’t usually see. My violets and lilies of the valley have flowers. Both plants came from my mother’s yard, from her back yard. Like her lilies, mine have taken over. The side bed is filled with them. I put a few in the backyard and they came up this year and have spread a bit. They can have the whole yard. Gracie won’t mind.

Having memories of my mother in the garden every spring gives me joy.

I’m Easy: Keith Carradine

Coming in at number 81:

“Film is one if three universal languages, the other two: mathematics and music.”

The house is always colder than outside this time of the year. I had to put my sweatshirt on as soon as I woke up. The cats, of course, ran to the sun streaming through the front door as soon as I opened it. I went outside while the coffee was brewing. Gracie was investigating the yard. The air felt a bit chillier today than it had yesterday. I watched the birds for a while, and it seems one of the chickadees is checking out my flamingo bird house. I hope she nests there. My other bird house fell, and I don’t have a ladder to put it up high enough, and my tree climbing days are long over so I’ll have to see if I can get a bit of help. The deck looks great. All it needs is some warm weather.

The Star Trek movie was excellent. The two hours went by quickly, and it was easy to get into the characters again and fun to recognize bits from the other Star Trek movies, the ones with the original cast. Roles were reversed in this version. Spock did a Kirk and Kirk did a Spock.

Reviews are funny. The Globe gave the movie 3 and a half stars. Today in the Cape Times it got 2 and was called humdrum.

When I walked into the theater, I could hear two people chatting. They were sitting a row apart so they weren’t with one another. I missed the beginning of the conversation, but I did hear the man say he had to go through his 8 thousand stamps. The woman asked him if he was a stamp collector. I laughed and tried to imagine other reasons to have 8 thousand stamps. Lots of pen pals maybe? A wall in his house looking for a different treatment? A bit of hoarding? I wished they’d have chatted a bit more but my walking in stopped their conversation. I guessed they figured they’d lost their privacy. A fourth person joined us, the couple and I, in watching the movie. A weekday afternoon is a great time to see a movie.

I have one event on my dance card today. A speaker at the library at 2 o’clock talking about the dune shacks. It’s my turn to bring the cookies.

” For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.”

Today is much chillier than yesterday though still sunny. I was on the deck for only a few minutes this morning before I felt cold and came back inside. Gracie followed me. She is my barometer. If Gracie stays outside, it’s warm. If not, it’s a bit chilly. She’s looking out the front door right now. It’s her view to the world, the small world of our street.

Outside is quiet. Not even a dog is barking. Yesterday I could hear lawn mowers and blowers. Today I hear birds. I know when it gets warm enough to open the windows, I’ll hear all the sounds around me: cars going down the street, people talking, dogs barking at each other and kids laughing and yelling, the ones who live at the other end of my road. My bedroom window is already open, but it’s late when I go to bed so all is quiet.

We always had the May procession around the middle of the month. Every single grade, from 1 to 8, took part. The first grades, for a few weeks before the big day, were taught the songs while the rest of us just practiced a little. We sang the same songs every year so once you learned them they stayed in your head. I still know the words to a couple of them. We all wore our best clothes, girls in dresses and boys in creased pants, shirts and ties. The second graders wore their white first communion suits and dresses. The procession was a long block walk. We sang as we walked. The sidewalks were lined with mostly parents. It wasn’t like a parade with cheering, but there were some claps to acknowledge us. We always ended at the grotto next to the church where there was a statue of Mary in a niche. Every year it was an eighth grader who climbed stairs to the niche and crowned Mary with flowers while everyone sang Oh, Mary We crown thee with blossoms today. When I was an eighth grader, I was chosen to crown Mary. It was quite the honor. I was nervous, and I remember climbing the stairs and finding I couldn’t quite get the crown on her head. It was a little too high so the priest who was spotting me on the stairs sort of pulled my arm a little higher and I was able to crown Mary with the flowers.

After the crowning we all walked in a procession to the schoolyard which was just behind the grotto. The procession ended there and the photo ops began. Groups stood on the school lawn and parents used their Brownies to snap pictures. One of my favorites is all of us in what must have been our Easter dresses and my brother in his first communion white suit. He was seven then, and I was eight. The front group is kneeling on the grass, and we are all pretending to pray. That picture makes me smile. I know my mother put us up to the pretend praying. It’s not anything we’d have ever done on our own. We’d probably been running around playing on the lawn, May procession or not.

“I love how summer just wraps it’s arms around you like a warm blanket.”

Today is supposed to be warm, maybe even hot. Yesterday Skip, my factotum, was here all day getting the backyard and deck ready for summer. Looks like the timing was perfect. The vegetable garden was weeded, its fence mended, candles hung in the trees, furniture uncovered and cleaned, Gracie’s holes filled, including the one closest to China, backyard ornaments put into the ground and my favorite new addition set up from the heavy pine tree: two stars hung together with five tails extending from them all in white lights. I put them on the timer and last night the stars were beautiful. A few things remain, like planting the veggies and adding flowers and herbs to the pots and getting the shower ready, but that’ll wait until it’s warmer every day. I can’t help it. Seeing the deck ready makes me excited to be out there every day.

When I was a kid, and it was summer, we never stayed in the house, even when it rained. We’d find a leafy tree and stay under it to keep as dry as we could. Most days, though, we’d spend at the playground on the field at the bottom of our street. There were two college students there and at each of the playgrounds in town. They ran all the activities. One summer I painted a tray, and it was the best painting I’d ever done. Every summer I’d make lanyards or bracelets out of gimp. I could do all different knots. The first one I learned was the square knot then the round and then the flat. The round was for the lanyard and the flat was the best for a gimp bracelet. I made pot holders on that square loom with the hooks where you wove the cotton. I think I gave my mother one for every Christmas for years. I played horseshoes, checkers and softball and learned to play chess and tennis. For years I spend the entire day at that playground. The local paper, The Independent, had a playground section once a week,and I got my name in the paper a few times for winning at horseshoes and for being the winning pitcher in softball. Nothing makes a kid happier than to see her name in print.

I out grew the playground and spent summers round the house more. By the time I was a teenager, my friends and I were at the go out at night stage. I was on a drill team and we had drill practice two nights a week, and once every couple of weeks we’d go the drive-in. Some nights we just hung around the way teenagers do. My mother didn’t seem to miss the potholders.

‘I don’t know why, but the meals we have on picnics always taste so much nicer than the ones we have indoors,’ said George.”

Although it is only a bit after 10, I have already had a busy morning in contrast to yesterday’s day of sloth. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of raindrops, came downstairs, went to get the papers then read both of them. When I was finished, I went upstairs and  changed my bed. As I unfurled the bottom sheet, a sock flew out of the corner, the missing sock to one of the few pairs I have without holes. I never throw socks away. I always figure the shoe hides the holes. I then finished the bed, got dressed and left for my 9 o’clock library board meeting. Our biggest agenda item was choosing between plastic or wood for planting tubs and between Alberta Spruce and some other bush with a Japanese sounding name. We went wooden and the bush with a Japanese sounding name. I tried to Google the name of the bush and put into Google Odd Bush with Japanese sounding name, but George W. kept appearing. That gave me a bit of a chuckle. My next stops were the post office and the pharmacy. My last stop was voting in the town election. The big race is for selectman, three running for two spots. There were also two requests for tax overrides and a non-binding question as to whether the nuclear plant in Plymouth should be closed. People are a bit edgy that the evacuation route means driving by the plant. While I was driving all over town doing errands, the sun came out and the sky turned a light blue. It is, however, still a bit cold, only in the low 50′s. My heat came on this morning.

When I was a kid, we never went on a picnic just for the sake of a picnic. We’d eat outside sitting on the back steps which is, I suppose, a cousin to the picnic; however, I do remember stopping at rest areas and eating at picnic benches but only on long rides, usually to somewhere for vacation. We ate at the beach, but it was the water and the sand which drew us, not a picnic. My mother had a picnic basket and a red Tartan jug. She made great sandwiches, and there were usually chips and Oreos.

When I was in Ghana, we went on picnics just for the fun of a picnic. We’d bring the small charcoal burner, some hot dogs from a can or from the meat factory that used to be in Bolga, bread, chopped tomatoes and onions and probably something for dessert though I don’t remember what. I’m leaning toward the sweet donuts or the toasted coconut balls. We’d load up then ride our motorcycles a bit into the bush. Once I remember being near Tonga and another time paying guys to haul our bikes across a small pond. We’d sit on a blanket, enjoy our lunch and watch Ghana. I loved those picnics.

Here on the cape we used to have picnics on a hill overlooking the Grist Mill. We’d climb and complain about it as we carried the basket of goodies and the drinks. I remember being so glad to reach the top and hurrying to spread out the blanket so I could collapse. We’d stay for hours.

We’d bring picnics to Sunday night band concerts every week. We all took turns bringing the appetizer, the dinner or the dessert and then we’d share. Another time we had a picnic before a town meeting. Lots of people did. We all sat about the baseball field or the bleachers enjoying dinner from a basket. The meeting was with both towns about the school budget and was on the high school football field. The chairs were under a tent and I thought it had a bit of the circus about it. A group of musicians played before the meeting and the snack bar was open. That was a long time ago.

I think it’s time to bring back picnics and Tartan jugs.

“My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.”

I woke up to the sound of rain, a gentle rain. I stayed in bed a while and listened. I could also hear Gracie’s deep sleep breathing and every now and then a sigh. Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Last week my friend and I went out to dinner. She mentioned it was her mother’s birthday and how much she still misses her. She said no one told us it would be this hard.

Every year I post the same entry about my mother. At Easter this year my sister and I laughed about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives, and her house was filled. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jig saw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid. She expertly used mother’s guilt and, “I’ll do it myself,” was her favorite weapon. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly.We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

I still think to reach for the phone and call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and I cried a little.

“Weekends don’t count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless.”

The morning is damp and cloudy, and every now and then it rains a bit then stops. The whole day is supposed to be like that: a bit rainy, but I don’t mind. I have laundry to do, a bed to change and a book to read. It’s Killing Lincoln by Bill O’Reilly who’s not a favorite of mine but the book so far has been interesting.

I can hear lawn mowers: a Saturday sound ever since I was little. Now, though, it’s the gas mower and not the click clack of blades. Also missing is the sound of voices, of men talking to one another across lawns.  Mowing was traditionally a man’s job. Women worked inside the house except when hanging laundry and men worked outside. The yard was my father’s realm.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, it meant no early bedtime on Friday, a matinée in the afternoon during the fall and winter and staying up late until I was tired. This time of year it was a day to roam, to ride bikes, to have no destination in mind and no real plans. Saturday was spontaneous. When I was older, in high school, Saturday meant sleeping late, and Saturday night was reserved for friends. We’d go bowling or to a movie or just hang around together. My friend Tommy would invite us over his house, and his mother would make us pizza, great homemade pizza. When Bobby got his license and a car, we’d go to the drive-in, all of us. I remember laughing a lot.

College was a whole different set of friends and Saturday was party night. Sometimes we’d go to a hockey game and sometimes we’d party before but we always partied after. I remember going for breakfast around two or three in the morning at a local hole in the wall diner. Those were the best eggs I ever tasted. I’d get to bed around four.

When I was in Ghana, Saturday was sometimes go to market day and sometimes it was go see a really old movie outside at the Hotel d’Bull, like a drive-in without the car. Saturday was chore day for the students. They did their laundry and worked  around the school compound, but on Saturday night they had entertainment. Tribal dancing was one of my favorites. Usually Bill and I would roam all over to see the dancers. Peg usually stayed with the baby. Other nights we’d see a movie or a play completion or a singing competition among the houses.  It was, in its own way, a special day.

When I taught, Saturday was grocery shopping day and clean the house day, but it was still the best day of the week. I got to sleep late and I usually needed it. Friday was happy hour day, a day to celebrate the end of the work week, and Saturday was the day to recuperate from all that celebrating. Most Saturday nights I was busy with friends, sometimes we’d see a movie or just hang around together.

Now I joke that every day is Saturday, but there are still a few hold-over traditions. When it gets warmer, Saturday will be movie on the deck night. I love that. It’s like a return to the matinée days but without getting hit by a JuJu bead or having a flashlight shined in my eyes.

“I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.”

I just got back from my monthly breakfast with friends, all who are, like me, retired. I wasn’t sure whether it was 9 or 9:30 so I went for 9. I was early so I sat in the car and watched the world round me. Fog came rolling down the street from the ocean. It also hovered over the marsh behind the houses across the street. An old man shuffled out of the breakfast spot to his car which had taken up two spaces: the front end had one and the back end the other. He opened his trunk, looked in and then closed it again. I guess all was well in his trunk. He got in his car and left which freed up two spaces. People went in and out of the small post office. In front of me was a grove of beautiful red trees. I listened to the radio while I waited and then when one of my friends came, we went inside.

The morning is spectacular. Fluffy clouds dot the deep blue sky, and it is time to change to sandals, time to put away my winter shoes. Yesterday it rained a bit, and I heard a long and loud clap of thunder, as loud as any I’ve heard in a while. I expected a downpour, but it never came; instead, it merely sprinkled for a while.

Last night was trivia, and we reigned supreme. Many of the answers worked in our favor, we who are a bit older. One bonus was name the mother in each sitcom. I figured Donna Stone of the Donna Reed Show was not going to be answered by the younger teams. Even the music was easy. Usually the questions ask for groups totally unknown to me. Last night the first question was what duo was originally named Caesar and Cleo. I hopped right on that one. The next music question was whose first hit was A Tisket A Tasket in 1938. East enough-I play it here some Easters. At the end, before the final question, we were tied for second, a spot we were in most of the evening. The category was states and we bet 25, the maximum. The question was name the state admitted to the union in 1863 which first wanted to be called Kanawha. It was another answer I knew right away but I had to convince a couple of my teammates: one of whom wanted Arkansas and the other California. They had no reason, just hunches. When I explained why, they went with my answer. That put us over the top and we won! It made me glad that some of my memory drawers are filled with answers which are generally useless except for trivia contests. They are the drawers with cobwebs and a few mice.

Nothing on tap for the weekend. Rain is expected so maybe I’ll clean out that cabinet I’ve been eyeing for a while. But then again, maybe I won’t. It sounds a bit too much like actual work to me. I think I’m allergic!